Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides)

by Roxanne St Claire

  She sent the email and clicked over to her in-box, a tightening in her belly at the name. Misty Trew. And the subject line. NEED HELP ASAP!

  Willow took a sniff of the air. Trouble, trouble, trouble. She opened the note, her eyes shuttering at the sheer length of it, not to mention the ridiculous overuse of exclamation points! After every sentence! Which were not so much sentences as commands!

  The very last bullet point was a note that the preliminary guest list was attached and that they should immediately start assigning rooms and villas for the guests with stars next to their names.

  Willow’s heart did a roller-coaster dip. From the moment Misty had revealed that she knew Willow’s mother, this seemed inevitable. Would her mother be here for the wedding? A hot burst of fear mixed with dread and topped with a great big dollop of anything-but-Ona splashed in Willow’s stomach at the thought.

  She looked at the attachment, but didn’t actually open it. How long did she think she could actually avoid her mother?

  Long. She’d managed to do so for three years, a feat that had been remarkably easy. Ona was always busy, always traveling, always late, always surrounded by important, beautiful, powerful, skinny people who did exactly as she wanted.

  Like Misty.

  Oh, boy. Willow dropped back against her chair, that hot feeling of dread melting into something even uglier. Wasn’t she above being jealous at this point in her life? Not that she envied Misty her reed-thin body, cover girl looks, or her job in front of the camera. But…weren’t those the very things that caused Willow’s constant sense that she was a disappointment to her mother? Willow with the body that embarrassed Ona. And Willow with the looks that favored her father and not her magazine-cover mother. And Willow who was openly disdainful of modeling as a career choice.

  Obviously, Misty and Ona would have all those common bonds where Willow and Ona had nothing but…arguments and anger and the inability to ever see things through the other person’s eyes.

  Misty probably agreed with everything that control freak demanded. Hell, they had the same personality. Was that what was eating at her with this client? Because it really felt a lot like the green monster was chewing at her insides.

  Her finger lingered over the mouse button, ready to click. What if Ona and Donny Zatarain’s names were on the guest list? What would that mean, other than Willow would have to see her parents in a month?

  She opened the list, not really surprised at how tight her throat was, but kind of shocked by how short the list was. Fewer than fifteen names. Misty had said a small wedding, but even by “intimate” Barefoot Bay wedding standards, this was tiny. Still, her gaze went straight to the bottom. Yardley was the last name. No Z’s. No Zatarains.

  A slow exhale of pure relief escaped as she stared at the space under the last name.

  “You’re so intense when you work.”

  Her head shot up at the words, making her turn to the door with a soft inhale of surprise. And delight. Forget the sunset. The sight of Nick Hershey filling her office doorway was as glorious as anything nature could provide.

  “I like it.” He didn’t move, leaning against the jamb with his arms folded, his dark eyes searing her, his expression softly humorous.

  “I’m just reading an email from Misty,” she said, happy the words didn’t come out as a rasp despite her dry throat.

  “How is she?”

  “Demanding.”

  His mouth twisted in a curve, punctuated by a shrug of one mighty shoulder. “She appears to be a woman who likes to get her way.”

  “I know the type,” Willow agreed. “I was raised by one.” Why did she admit that? Because Ona was on her brain? Or because something about him made her want to share? Both.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” She turned her chair to face him, unable to resist a quick—okay, maybe not that quick—scan of his whole body, nicely on display in a simple white T-shirt and baggy cargo shorts. “Wow, clothes. What’s the occasion?”

  He grinned and propped his hip against her desk, looking down at her. “New pages, that’s the occasion. About twenty-two of them.”

  She met his happy expression with a genuine one of her own. “Really? Did you take my advice?”

  “Like the bitter pill it was, but yes, I did. And as much as I seemed resistant to your comments, I have to say thank you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny jump drive, holding it out to her. “And please tell me what you think of what I’ve written.”

  She coughed softly, not sure how to react.

  He took her hand and put the jump drive in her palm, closing his fingers around hers. “Please.”

  Electricity zinged through her at the touch. Oh, she’d missed him, all right. Him and his touch and smile and penchant for nudity. And he was handing her an excuse to spend as much time as possible basking in all of those. Still, she didn’t want to appear too easy.

  “I really didn’t think you liked what I had to say.”

  He slid around the desk without letting go of her hand, eliminating the barrier as he came into her personal space. “I didn’t, but I came around and realized you have a gift.”

  He closed the space between them, looming over her now, all muscle and man with his hips dangerously close to her face. She either had to stare at his crotch, or crane her neck to look up at his face. Using good judgment, she went with his face.

  “A gift?”

  “You inspire me.” Smiling, he slowly dropped down to accommodate the difference in their height, taking one knee and still holding her hand. “I need you to do this, and in return, I’ll do anything you want.”

  For a moment, she couldn’t speak, but had to drink up the deliriously wonderful sight of Nick Hershey on one knee, holding her hand, a plea in his voice and a promise in his eyes. “Anything?”

  “I’ll get Misty off your back. I’ll never sing off-key. I’ll teach you how to hold your breath underwater for two minutes. I’ll never get naked again.”

  “Don’t go crazy.”

  His eyes widened as he picked up that cue. “Or I’ll get naked all the time,” he amended. “Whatever you want.”

  “What I want is…” You.

  The word kicked her heart, shaking her a little, making her whole body shiver with how clear and strong and real that desire was.

  “Name it,” he whispered. “Whatever you want.”

  She lost the fight, leaned forward, and put her mouth on his.

  “Oh,” he murmured into the kiss.

  Willow instantly tried to back away, but Nick got his hand behind her head to keep her where she was and angle them both for the optimal amount of mouth-to-mouth. Warm and sweet, soft and tender, his lips played against hers with the perfect amount of hunger and vulnerability and trepidation.

  The last one was on her end, and it finally knocked some sense into her, so she ended the contact, no matter how much she didn’t want to.

  “Sex?” he asked.

  She let out a quick laugh. “Are you asking for it or about it?”

  “I’m interpreting your answer to the question of how I can repay you for reading all the shitty drafts of my book and helping me get it right.”

  “With sex.” She should have made it a question, but was too stunned at the suggestion to do that.

  “Okay.”

  “No, no.” She shook her head, pressing on his broad, strong shoulders but not exactly pushing him away. “That’s not what I…” She couldn’t even deny it. It was exactly what she wanted. “That’s not why I kissed you.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “I guess because I wanted to.”

  “I can tell. I can see it in your eyes.”

  She rolled those very eyes. “Yes, I know. Blue means happy. Green means mad.”

  “And that gray the color of an impending storm? Lust.”

  She had to laugh, and not just because he was serious and charming and funny and…right.

  “It’s n
othing to be ashamed of,” he added. “I feel the same way about you, but my eyes don’t change color.”

  She searched the depths of those dark eyes, mentally grabbing the first half of that statement but forcing herself to think about the second. “No, they don’t change color,” she agreed. “And I’m not ashamed. I’m not…”

  “Ready? Interested? Willing?”

  Emotions swamped her. She was quite ready, more than interested, and totally willing. Except…how could she tell him?

  “Come on, Willie.”

  Willie. Well, that killed the moment. “Honestly, Nick,” she said, pushing him back with a little too much force. “Do you really think I need sex that badly that I’d read your book for it?”

  He choked a laugh. “There are so many insults in that question, I don’t know where to begin.”

  “I don’t mean to insult you, but…” She didn’t know any other way of getting out of this.

  Slowly, he stood, ending the bliss of Nick on one knee. Too bad. She’d have to conjure up that image on lonely nights.

  Taking the jump drive out of her hand, he placed it on the desk and took a step backward. “It’s your call, Willow.” He rounded the desk and walked to the door, sliding one last look over his shoulder. “You know where to find me.”

  She managed a shrug of sheer indifference. “Of course. Naked and underwater.”

  He grinned and left her alone, the sound of his footsteps in the empty hall outside like a tap on her heart.

  Why didn’t she say yes? Nick Hershey had been her first choice years ago, and here he was, basically offering the same thing she’d always wanted. Why the hell wouldn’t she take it?

  She picked up the drive and stuck it in the nearest USB port on her computer, the soft ring like a fighter’s bell. Round two. TKO dead ahead.

  Really, this was long overdue.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ona Zatarain thumbed the pictures on Misty’s iPhone, tamping down a little frustration when image after image denied her what she wanted more than life itself. “I still don’t see her,” she sighed.

  “Keep going.” Misty leaned over and tried to wrest the phone. “I can find the ones with her.”

  Ona refused to give up the device, physically turning away to cling to this tiny, merciless, unsatisfying connection with her daughter. “I know how to work the phone,” she said, angling the screen at the next shot, which showed a wide, white beach speckled with sunny yellow umbrellas. In the distance, a blond woman stood near the water.

  “There she is,” Misty said, her whole body leaning over so she could see the screen. “That’s her.”

  Pushing up from the plush sofa to cross the room, Ona clutched the tiny phone and peered at the screen, then flicked it to zoom in. “Oh my Lord, look at her. Donny!” She spun around, shifting her focus from the screen to the expanse of the Ritz-Carlton suite, zeroing in on her husband who didn’t lift his head from the putter and practice green, his attention riveted on lining up his shot.

  “If you take a picture of me with that thing, Ona, I’m filing for divorce.”

  Heh. It was tempting to threaten him with a picture of a nearly sixty-year-old man golfing that would wreck his well-cultivated bad-boy rocker image, but her need to share this moment trumped amusement. “Just look at her, honey.”

  “One second.” He drew the putter back, glancing at the hole not far from where Ona stood. “I will.” He let go and swung softly.

  “She looks happy.”

  The ball rolled and missed the hole by a good three inches, making Donny swear softly. “She is happy, Ona. The last time I talked to her, she sounded downright chipper.”

  Envy stung, the way it had these past few months when her husband mentioned a conversation or email or text with Willie. They were rare, of course, but when he had contact with her, old demons came out to torture Ona. But then she remembered that something bigger and better had crushed those demons and given her a second chance.

  A second chance at life, and a second chance at motherhood. She was taking them both with every bit of energy and determination she could muster. And for Ona, that was a lot.

  As Donny walked to the hole, he paused to glance at the phone she held out. Wordlessly, he peered at the screen, then he nodded.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  He barely lifted a shoulder.

  Ona spun around to the young woman she’d left lounging on her couch. “I hope your future husband is more communicative than my current one,” she said. “I know I’ll choose more wisely next time.”

  Misty looked surprised at the comment, but behind Ona, Donny snorted. And grabbed her ass as he carried his ball back to putt again. “He better have balls of steel, woman, since you love nothing more than breaking them.”

  She slipped out of his touch, sharing a look that they both knew meant two things: Neither of them took the other’s threats seriously, and there’d be some action when Misty left.

  “I’m serious about this,” she told him, returning to the phone to flip through the pictures.

  “Obviously,” Donny shot back, lining up his next put. “Or you wouldn’t have put us all through this total insanity, including poor Misty, who just wants to get married in peace and not be part of the scheme of the century.”

  “Oh, no, you’re wrong, Mr. Z.” Misty leaped up from the sofa, her long ponytail swinging. “I love this scheme of the century.”

  “It’s not a scheme!” Ona insisted. “And Misty is going to get married in peace, a year from now, in the massive wedding she wants. We, on the other hand, are going to have our vows renewed on the beach in a gorgeous ceremony exactly as I want it, which means our daughter will not only be there, we—I—will be reconciled with her. I know this is going to happen.”

  With the last sentence, Donny gave her a look she knew all too well. A little pity, a little confusion, a little plea in his hazel eyes. “You could try asking her instead of your usual master manipulation.”

  “I’m not manipulating what I know will happen.” What she had seen and knew would eventually happen was what she meant, but Donny had little patience for that. He was a pragmatist, and this situation could use a little of that, too. “And you know as well as I that the answer would be no,” she added. “She’d claim she’s busy or traveling or whatever. She’s managed to avoid seeing me face-to-face for three years, and if I don’t do something to change that, it’ll be thirty years I’m in maternal prison.”

  Not that Ona didn’t deserve every one of those years. But a new day had dawned, and she was going to right every wrong with her daughter, and it would be done face-to-face.

  She’d gone…somewhere. She didn’t claim to understand where, but while there, she’d been given her marching orders, and they were to march right into Willie’s arms. Her heart swelled at the thought. It had been so, so long since she’d seen her daughter.

  “Are there any more pictures of her, Misty?”

  “I think I have one more.” She took the phone and swiped through the shots with the confidence of youth raised on touch screens, then nodded, handing it back to Ona. “Here. She’s talking to Nick, my brother’s stand-in.”

  “So sweet of him to go with you, Misty. I hope he doesn’t mind when the truth comes out. I never expected your brother to force that issue.”

  Misty shook her head. “You’re doing Jason a favor, believe me. When I told him about this whole plan, he jumped on the idea of sending Nick, who Jason thinks is having a hard time being on a medical leave. It’s so like Jason to worry about his friend,” she said, her eyes bright with sisterly pride. “I hope Jase really can make the wedding when it happens.”

  “I hope so, too,” Ona agreed, peering at the picture on the phone. “Oh, this young man looks very handsome. And…” She frowned and squinted at the phone, cursing her need for reading glasses that she was too vain to wear. Was it her eyes or did this picture of the couple standing near the deep-blue water look like something she’
d…dreamed?

  They weren’t dreams, Ona.

  “So the weirdest thing is Willow knows him from UCLA,” Misty continued. “They lived in the same dorm or something.”

  “Really?” Ona’s eyes widened.

  “I know, right? Freaky coincidence.”

  Ona resisted a quick look skyward, knowing that there weren’t any such things in this life. “What did you say his name was again?” she asked, attempting to sound casual.

  Donny already thought she’d lost her marbles, and Misty was going to cut her only so much slack. Ona couldn’t tell them everything she’d seen that hour she spent on the other side.

  “Nick Hershey,” Misty said. “And I guess Jason was right about him needing a vacation, since he decided to stay for a month and work on some writing project he’s doing.”

  “Oh, Lord, he knows Willie?” The impact of that truly hit her. “What if he tells her?”

  “I thought of that,” Misty said. “I was going to tell him when I got there before we even talked to anyone, but by the time I showed up, they were all chummy and walking on the beach and he’d already asked her out to dinner.”

  “He had?” Ona’s voice rose with interest.

  “Ona…” Donny warned harshly. “Don’t even go there.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. But if he feels some sort of loyalty to her, he’s going to tell her what we’re doing.”

  “I know!” Misty agreed. “So I decided not to tell him. I’m hoping that he’s having such a good time being there that when there’s no wedding, he’s cool about it.”

  “And he asked her to go to dinner?” For some reason, that gave Ona a little shiver of satisfaction. Nothing could make her happier than for Willie to find the kind of love that Ona had enjoyed her whole life.

  Donny was next to her in a second. “You’re pulling enough puppet strings, love.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m doing nothing of the sort.” She gave Misty a nudge, wanting very much to hear more about this Nick Hershey. “Why don’t we go downstairs and sit by the pool and you can tell me every single detail?”